


Nothing Serious

by tsv



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6762586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsv/pseuds/tsv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started out as just sex, of course. But a lot can change over the course of seven months.</p><p>Something short and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Serious

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this for a Tumblr request, but it ended up spiraling off into a work of its own that was somewhat irrelevant to the original prompt.
> 
> Been busy lately so I haven't been able to work through my backlog of prompts, but I'm always open for more! [Drop by my Tumblr](http://tsv.tumblr.com/) if you want to give me ideas or requests!

It's about one month into their 'relationship', laying in a bed not his own with the tiny, exhausted frame of one Thaddeus S. Venture curled up against his bulk, when it first occurs to Brock to tell the boys.

Obviously, he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. Why tell them? Why tell anyone? This isn't permanent. It isn't anything.

It's two consenting adults who have known each other for a long time, helping each other work out a bit of frustration. And oh, does Doc ever have a _lot_ of frustration, especially now that he's taken over managing Ventech. Nothing quite relieves Doc's tension like a good fuck.

But in the end, it's not that different from the fact that he goes to Warriana's apartment every other night to relieve some tension of his own. It's sex. A primal act. The fact that it's two men is completely irrelevant.

Because that's all it'll ever be.

—

It takes three months for Rusty to consider for a moment that, perhaps, this has become serious.

It's when he calls Brock a pet name, and realizes he was only being half-sarcastic about it. Or maybe it's when he hesitates to flirt with the Monarch's wife, knowing Brock is watching him from the corner of the room, wondering if it'll make him jealous and feeling genuine guilt about that possibility.

Or maybe it's when he's laying in the man's arms after another round of sex, wide awake, realizing that this is the only time in years that he's ever actually felt _safe_ or _genuinely cared about_. Those feelings are addicting. They are the only things that keep him sane, lately.

Brock stopped seeing Warriana a month or two ago, not that he ever discussed his reasons for that. And since then, they've spent nearly every night together. Certainly, it's more serious than either of them bargained for.

But how serious can it even get? They still don't talk about it. The most they ever exchange is whispers of consent and direction, of 'yes', 'wait', 'there', 'harder', 'try it like this'.

It occurs to Rusty that a life with him, a life spent together for the rest of their days, is probably one Brock never envisioned. Ultimately, this is a phase. It's temporary. It isn't anything.

But isn't that what they both wanted to begin with? Nothing 'serious'?

Rusty's stomach feels sick.

—

Four and a half months have gone by since the start of it all. Brock finds himself sitting in the lab, even if he knows Doc can handle himself, and there's other things he could be doing aside from playing bodyguard to some potential threat.

He's got time to kill, anyway. So he watches. Some experiment — they tried to explain it briefly, but he told them not to waste their time. Quizboy, White and Doc all crowd around a table in their goggles and lab coats, Billy at the forefront with the steadiest hands of the three, holding a tiny dropper and squeezing out measured yellow droplets into some coppery-looking solution.

Apparently, the lack of an explosion translates into some sort of success, as the three of them let out a chorus of excited murmurs, stepping away from the volatile concoction. Brock watches as Rusty pushes his goggles up onto his forehead, his slim fingers swooping in eager gestures to punctuate his sentences. He watches his mouth move, and thinks about the way it feels to kiss those slender, chapped lips.

Genuine laughter bubbles up in Rusty's throat at one of White's jokes, and that's when Brock realizes he's been smiling like a dope. He's probably been smiling like a dope for five minutes now, actually. All from watching Doc like some kind of lovesick puppy.

_Shit._

He excuses himself as casually as he can, and hurries out to the penthouse terrace. Lights up a smoke. Tries to calm down, think this thing through.

It's just sex. They're both men. He's straight. Doc is straight? Maybe? He's been fucking the guy in the ass for almost five months now. That probably doesn't constitute 'heterosexual' for _either_ of them, but especially not the guy getting fucked.

Calm down. Think straight. (Ha.) Relax. _You are_ definitely _not in love with Doc._

But Brock can't stop thinking about him, regardless.

—

Six months down the line from the beginning, on a long-deserved vacation from the headache that has become managing his late brother's superscience empire, Rusty finds himself sitting on a beach and holding Brock's hand.

It's subtle. Just his bodyguard's broad palm eclipsing his own in the shadow of a beach umbrella, while they watch the boys chase each other some twenty feet away, laughing as they go, footsteps disappearing in the sand as the tide rolls in.

The fading sun feels pleasantly warm on his pale face. His fingers feel pleasantly warm against skin that isn't his own.

It's like they're a family. Sure, he's considered Brock family in some respect for a long time, but in a more abstract way. Sitting together like this, arm to arm with his sons playing in the distance, would it be hard to mistake them for a pair of proud parents?

He tells Brock he loves him that same night, for the very first time.

The man doesn't respond. Rusty feels his jaded little heart breaking in his chest, along with whatever fragile hope he'd allowed himself to have, hope that this could've ended in anything but failure like the rest of his miserable life.

He tries to pretend that he never said it, and fall asleep without thinking about it. That, of course, fails. But he does eventually manage to sleep, light and uneasy, facing away from his companion.

In the morning, Brock wakes him up with breakfast, and gruffly suggests that they figure out a way to tell the boys.

—

Seven months, and Brock is the one to breach the subject first, sitting the boys down in the living room with Rusty's hand in his own. It is every bit as awkward as he dreaded it would be. "Boys, I think there's something you should know. About me and and your father."

Aside from the initial confusion, it goes a lot better than they expected. That accounts for most of the reactions they receive from then on. It's almost like most of the people in their life had been halfway _expecting_ this.

Neither of them are entirely sure how to feel about that.


End file.
